For this Valentine’s Day week I wrote up short sketches of the seven girls I have loved. This is the fifth.
She was, and continues to be, a dream.
I often do not believe she was a part of my life,
and yet she is the greatest story I have to tell,
certainly the most romantic.
Like most of the others,
she had major issues with her father
and seemed fearful to allow any men into her life.
One night I talked myself up to tell her I loved her.
I went to her apartment,
but no one answered
and I never got up the courage again.
I gave her my favorite novel,
she gave me a lovely note and a tin of tea when we parted.
We wrote letters.
I showed up at her door
on the other side of the country.
She gave me a letter saying my coming
changed everything for the better for her
and I thought only good things could come of that.
Yet that was followed by erratic messages
and a phone call or two,
but nothing more.
She is the ideal of the passionate female lead.
Although it is not with me, I am happy that she,
unlike so many others I have known,
did not abandon dreams
but chased and acquired them.
She escaped.
Words will keep us together 